


Devil On My Shoulder

by voleuse



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-14
Updated: 2005-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I am king of banks and stone and every blooming thing.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil On My Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 5.07. Summary and quotation adapted from Patrick Kavanagh's _Iniskeen Road: July Evening_.

_And there's the half-talk code of mysteries  
And the wink-and-elbow language of delight._

 

Logan extends the invitation to Rory on a whim.

Honestly, he couldn't say exactly why, but she's so damn _earnest_ that he can't help himself.

The invitation is the easy part. Backing it up is considerably more difficult.

*

 

"You can't be serious." Lowell punctuates his disapproval with a toss of a dart. It thwacks into the edge of the bullseye, and Lowell cheers for no reason.

Logan leans back against the bar, gestures for another round of beers. "Of course I'm serious."

"She's not one of us," Lowell responds. "Why should we make an exception?"

Logan has to mull over that for a second; his first impulse isn't anything that translates verbally.

"Because," he says, finally, "it's good publicity for us. It establishes that we aren't just another stupid fraternity."

Colin snorts into his Heineken. "Since when do secret societies need good publicity?"

Finn slings an arm around him. "Since when aren't we a fraternity?"

Stephanie clears her throat meaningfully. When Finn doesn't respond, she kicks him in the ankle.

"A collective, then," Finn amends, rubbing his ankle. "A group of like-minded individuals--"

"Who aren't simply about getting wasted," Logan cuts in, "or locking ourselves in coffins to prove our loyalty."

"I didn't know you saw that movie," Justin says.

"Or maybe," Stephanie interrupts, and Logan doesn't like the shine in her eyes, "maybe Logan just wants to get into Lois Lane's pants."

Finn frowns. "Who's Lois?"

"_Rory_," Logan replies, "is a reporter. And I have no interest in getting into her pants."

Lowell tosses another dart at the board. "She is female, isn't she?"

"Very much so," Colin confirms. "Hot."

Finn nods. "In a cute, fully-dressed sort of way." He steals Colin's beer. "Not my type."

"Cute, huh? And probably smart." Stephanie drapes herself over an empty table, grins in a way that reminds Logan she's just as dangerous sober. "It's about time you chose your queen, Logan."

Logan rolls his eyes, because there's no good way to respond.

Lowell misses the board completely with his last dart, and Justin collects the pile of money on the bar.

When they've finished divvying everything up, Logan looks around the room. "So?" he asks.

Finn throws his arms open. "By all means, bring the lovely Rory."

Logan smiles, and Colin hands him the tab.

*

 

"God, Logan. Couldn't you just, like, _hire_ someone to go shopping for you?"

Stephanie's hung over, again, or possibly still. He can feel her glare, even through her Fendi sunglasses. He ignores it, responds with his most brilliant smile.

"Money can't buy taste like yours, Stephanie." He plucks a dress from the shopkeeper's hand. "What do you think of this one?"

"Decent, but not great." She pushes her sunglasses onto her head, rolls her eyes. "You said she's skinny?"

"_Slim_." He hands the dress back, eyes another one. "If it's the right size, how much difference can it make?"

Stephanie grabs two dresses, holds them up to the light. "Dark hair?" She raises one slightly, then the other. "This one."

Logan nods to the shopkeeper. "Ring it up." He turns his smile back on, puts his hand on Stephanie's elbow. "Thank you."

"Is she prettier than me?" Stephanie pouts, which means she's bored.

He shrugs. "She's pretty."

Stephanie eyes him, then smirks. "Uh-huh."

"What?"

"And you knew her dress size _how_?"

"I guessed."

"Like--" And Stephanie reaches out, traces an hourglass shape over his shoulders, waist, hips. "That?"

When he doesn't answer, she laughs, and she doesn't stop laughing until Colin's picked them up, and Finn's started moaning about time differences and Logan's callous heart.

*

 

Sometime after dessert is served, but before Finn brings out the inevitable stash of marijuana, Rory grabs him by the wrist and drags him out into the trees.

"Okay," she starts, "as much as I appreciate being transported back in time, I'd appreciate it if I could get some answers at some point."

He tries not to smile, because she looks flushed by the firelight, and he expected her to snap sometime an hour and a half ago.

Sometime before Whitney and Melissa cornered him during dinner and proposed something Finn's been speculating about for three years.

He still isn't sure why he turned them down.

"Hello?" Rory raises her eyebrows. "Is this a new game? We're not using any letters at all now?"

Logan realizes he's staring. "Sorry. You were saying?"

She rolls her eyes, lets loose an amazingly long rant about entitlement, privilege, journalistic integrity, and Smokey the Bear.

It's cute. He lets most of it wash over him, because she's so _sincere_. He's not sure how to respond to it.

Finally, the rush of words trickles to silence, and Rory narrows her eyes.

"You don't care about anything I'm saying, do you?"

"Of course--"

"Fine. Whatever." She folds her arms. "I'll just find someone else to interview. Someone cooperative."

And she storms off, twigs snapping underneath her heels.

*

 

Violet offers him a glass of cider. He barely notices.

Rory's talking to Dereck. And Justin. And Lowell. And Colin. And Finn, the bastard.

She's sitting beside a campfire, laughing and tossing her hair back and smiling, surrounded by a crowd of guys he's known for most of his life.

This bothers him more than he would expect.

Violet finally dumps the cider in his lap.

Rory never looks over. Not even once.

He saunters off to his tent, and tells himself he doesn't care.

*

 

The next morning, from the top of the world, he takes Rory's hand, and jumps.

When they reach the ground, she puts his hand to her heart.

He can't catch his breath.

It's probably the adrenaline.

*

 

The next day, in the newsroom, Logan puts his feet up on his desk. Mostly because he likes the way the vein on Doyle's forehead throbs whenever he does it.

As a side benefit, however, it diverts Rory's attention from their story assignments.

He folds his hands behind his head and quirks an eyebrow at her.

He expects her to frown, maybe tap her notebook meaningfully.

Instead, she smiles at him.

It's like a slow fall from seven stories up.

Doyle clears his throat, and Logan puts his feet down, almost without thinking.

Rory nods, and when the meeting's over, Logan asks her if she wants to grab a cup of coffee.

She says no, but he almost doesn't mind.


End file.
